For my sister, Kris Reffett: 12/13/68–11/4/04
There are moments in November
when the old loss becomes new again.
Like someone arranged the calendar to say,
“Meet with grief today.
Remember the day her heart stopped beating.
Remember the day yours somehow kept going.”
Suddenly we were a home divided
with some of us grieving around a table
and her laughing somewhere around another.
Every November since,
I think of how I tried to sing like her.
Laugh like her. Love my friends like her.
How I will someday likely suffer like her.
And I will know how to go bravely because of her.
And every year when the gray skies
meet the every-colored leaves,
I wonder if we are next to nothing
If it matters we are here.
If we will really meet her in a There.
Wherever we are,
It is Home while it lasts.
Photo (Flickr CC) by travel oriented
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